My first experience with the death of someone my age was when I was 10 years old. We were members of First Baptist Church in High Point, NC. If the doors were open, we were there. Church was fun, but not for the reasons you are thinking. You see, my friends and I knew every hiding spot in the church, and FBC had some big buildings. It was an awesome place to play hide and seek and we were the masters!
There was a couple in the church named Smithenson, who served as foster parents. Although I did not have an appreciation for them at the time, I have since learned to have a deep appreciation for anyone who reaches out to children in need. The Smithensons exemplified the heart of God by loving unwanted or neglected children. The Smithensons always had a house full of kids and they were always at church. Usually, they would fit right in.
Well, it was a Wednesday night. We did our usual stuff… ate dinner, had Royal Ambassadors, then came the real reason for church – playing hide and seek.
The Smithensons had a new kid. He was my age. We had fun as usual. We ran and we played. But this night the new kid and I decided to have a wrestling match. After all, didn’t we have to decide who was the best? Wrestling was usually the “choice of weapons.” (Yes ladies, that male thing begins early in life!)
Well, I won… but in retrospect I wish I hadn’t. It really embarrassed the new kid and I was kind of mean about the whole thing. I gloated. In fact, it sort of turned into a little fight. I figured that the new kid and I would probably not become very close friends.
It was a few weeks later and we were having a RA camping trip to Camp Caraway. It was south of High Point about 30 or 40 minutes. It was a cool place… a medium size mountain, lots of hiking trails and a nice lake. We would stay in tents. Camp Caraway has since been well developed into a conference center, hotel rooms, cabins… the works.
I don’t remember why, but I decided not to go on the camping trip. (I probably was sick. In fact that may have been the time I had mono.) I still have mixed emotions about that decision.
One of the leaders of the camping trip was a guy named Cecil. Cecil was “The Man.” He was a Green Beret. In fact he was the karate instructor for Green Berets at Fort Bragg. Needless to say, he had our complete attention and we NEVER talked back. He drove a motorcycle and wore really cool boots.
Now on the camping trip, Cecil took the new kid in a canoe for a little ride. The rest of the guys were swimming off the dock. The kid stood up in the canoe. Cecil told him to sit down, but he didn’t. He was having too much fun. That moment of disobedience cost him his life.
Without warning the canoe flipped. It sent both of them into the water. The canoe apparently hit the kid in the head and knocked him out and he sunk to the bottom of the lake… remember, this was back in the day when we didn’t even think about life jackets.
Unfortunately, Cecil had on his boots. As he searched for the kid, his boots filled with water and began to take him under. He struggled ashore to get his boots off and immediately went back in to find the kid. All the other men were searching as well. He could not be found.
The rescue team arrived and dragged the lake. His body was found after about an hour.
I remember a picture in the paper… Cecil sitting on the side of the lake, his head in his hands leaning on top of his knees. With all of his Green Beret skills and training… he couldn’t save a 10 year old boy.
When I was told of the accident, all I could think of was the wrestling match and how I embarrassed the new kid.
At the funeral, I remember looking at him in the casket… it was the fist time I saw a dead person. It didn’t seem real. He didn’t look right. I remember the Smithensons being broken-hearted. I remember wanting to be any place but there.
After the funeral, we were driving home in the car. I sat in the back. Dad wanted to stop by his parent’s house, but Mom and I stayed in the car. I could not take it any more. I began to cry. I had never cried for someone who had died before that moment. I cried hard. Mom asked me if I was upset about the drowning. I said yes. But I didn’t dare tell her about my shame.
I didn’t understand. Why did this happen? Why wasn’t I nicer to him? Why didn’t he sit down? Why was Cecil wearing his boots? Why would God allow this to happen to a kid who already had a tough life in that his parents didn’t want him? Why him and not me? Why wasn’t I there? Could I have made a difference?
That event changed my life… it changed how I looked at people. It changed how I treated people. It changed how I cared about the unfortunate. Since the drowning, every time I see someone being picked on, I quickly step in to defend. I have loved kids every since.
I have remembered all these details of the death of a 10 year old. But there is one detail I can not remember… his name. Why have I not been able to remember the most important piece of information… his name? Maybe it hurt too much to know that I missed being nice to someone who didn’t know he had only a few weeks to live. I may never understand. I haven’t thought about it in a long time.
But what I do know is that I have a brother in Christ waiting for me in heaven… I will know his name then… we might even have a friendly wrestling match… I’m sure he will win.
God uses life events, both good and bad, to shape us and mold us. He is Lord and He is sovereign. I really can trust Him even when nothing makes sense.
What’s your story?
